Forgive Me
by pimptav
Summary: Grand Highblood mourns the loss of his kismeses. TRIGGER WARNING-Blood, vomit.


** Yeah…**

**Sadstuck shit because I was having a shitty weekend.**

**And I kept seeing posts that talked about how highbloods live longer than lowbloods.**

**And I wanted to write again because I've been really stuck on 'Lies and Secrets'**

**So…here you go…hope you like**

**From GHB's POV…but still in the same format…that's all I can write lately…**

**TRIGGER WARNING: Blood and vomit are mentioned…a lot of blood…and gruesome stuff…**

"FORGIVE YOU FOR WHAT?"

You scream and shake the lifeless creature, hoping to bring back the life to him.

But he is dead. And he is not coming back.

You cannot cry at this point. You are a highblood. Highbloods do not cry.

But your throat is aching.

He is only your kismeses. But he is still something important to you. In some way.

The wings hang lifelessly behind him, never having the chance to flutter again.

You wish there is some way you could see them twitch, ever so slightly. Just once more.

His head falls back, lifeless, dead, gone.

His soul has passed…finally.

You…aren't sure what to do at this point. You stand there stupidly, hands still gripping the dead shoulders tightly, trying to get the life back.

You grind your teeth in annoyance and anger.

You sigh, your arms slumping. Your hands still grip on tight.

Getting angry now is pointless.

You take the body in your arms and turn to you throne. You walk over and sit down, placing the corpse across your legs. The rust blood's head falls back, over the armrest. Drool starts to dribble from the dead mouth.

You lift his head back up in your oversized hand so you can look at his dead face.

You swear you see his wings tremble.

Just a bit.

Just a shiver and a twitch.

But that is just because you are moving him. Nothing else.

He is dead. There is nothing you can do.

You look down at his body, unable to see the rise and fall of his chest anymore, only the wounds from the sickness he was suffering.

You are unable to see the anger in his eyes anymore.

Everything is dead now.

You can no longer hear the rust blood pumping through his veins. You can only watch the remains of the blood in his mouth dribble out as a slow stream.

His eyes were wide and in shock. The yellow is threaded with rust and his pupils are dilated wide. He was very sick.

His hair is no longer bright red and dark black. It is gray and falling out by the hand fulls.

His wings are tattered and torn, about to fall off from all the damage they have encountered. It would be hard to explain to someone that he was once able to fly high in the skies.

Only one of his horns is still fully attracted, the other broken off near the base. The wound is swollen and scabbed with rust blood and pus.

The sickness he had makes trolls go insane. A beautiful way to die, you think.

You miss his bright, alive face. You miss the blood filling his cheeks with embarrassment and rage. You miss the screams that he used to scream in your ears, begging for mercy and for more. You want to fight him again.

Just once more.

You miss it.

But it doesn't matter now. He is dead. And that's all there is too it.

You look around your hive, trying to find the best spot for this lowblood's rust blood. It has to be special.

It would have to be in a great spot. Some place that no one would find, but a place that everyone would know.

You feel like you should mourn now.

Do highblood's mourn?

Or do they just kill and forget?

You lift up the troll in your arms. The dead troll's head falls back, dripping blood and saliva on the floor.

You get up on your feet and carry him off to behind your throne. The best place for a mourning site.

You sit back on the floor, resting the dead body in your lap. The head falls back, lifeless once more, over your leg.

This is the best and the most absurd place to paint a picture. He is a lowblood anyway.

You don't know if you could bring yourself from cutting the already scarred skin of your kismeses.

But...

He is a lowblood.

You cut deep into the flesh in his neck, ripping the jugular, the blood pouring over your fingertips. You hoped he is already dead.

You shove two fingers deep in his throat, feeling the bones and muscles around your fingertips. The rust blood lets out a few gurgling noises and rust blood from his dead mouth.

You cover you fingers in the disgusting yet satisfying rust blood.

You are going to paint a picture.

Not just any picture, though.

A picture for your kismeses.

You pull your fingers from his throat and move your blooded fingertips to the wall, as far up as you can reach. And you start to draw.

You are not the best at drawing pictures. When you do paint your walls, you randomly throw the blood in the walls, not caring where or what they hit. The colors mix and mingle, changing shades and tones, until it creates it's very own picture that you cannot even describe to anyone. You just love to stare at the wall and try to find the hidden picture inside. To find the true meaning of everything hurting in your head. But, you just cover it up once again, creating a whole new picture, creating even more controversy in your mind.

But not this time…

Your relationship was not the best, but it was not the worst, with the lowblood.

You both engaged in the regular fight or two, sometimes followed by hot kismeses bucket filling.

But once in while…you two would just talk.

But that is not important now.

You want to focus on the task at hand. Mourning your loss.

You are not the best at this kind of thing. You have never mourned a lost. You just killed and moved on.

But the dead troll does not care either way. He is lifeless and his soul has moved on.

Maybe he is watching you paint. Right now. Maybe his soul…

You just want to rip him up. Get all of his insides over your body. You wanted to feel his warmth once more. You wanted to feel his pumping blood in his veins again, filled with life.

You wanted to forget the pain. You wanted to forget the fucking and the fighting.

You just wanted him.

All to yourself.

You look down at the lifeless body in your lap, looking away from the almost finished piece on the wall.

His clothes are dirty, torn and old, covered in his vomit and blood. He was too sick.

You still aren't sure why he came here. He should have stayed away. Far, far away. And died somewhere else.

He came into your hive, just an hour ago, telling you to forgive him. He would not shut up about it, even when the blood and vomit came pouring from his mouth. You tried to shut him up and get him to fucking talk clearly.

But he died in your grasp before he could.

You stick your fingers in the bloody throat once more. The mouth made another noise, sending a shiver down your spine.

You miss his cries already.

You get more paint to cover your fingers, more than before.

Yes, you will miss him. But his memory will stay on your wall. And his bloody body will stay with you as well. Behind your throne.

Where else would you put your kismeses body?

You look back at the wall. Your drawing is almost complete.

It's a spade. A nice, rust blooded spade.

The rust mixes with the blues, yellows and greens, making the rust turn into an odd color of black in some places.

It is beautiful.

The rust blood is streaming down the wall, in places it shouldn't. It is mixing with more colors, making them run more, causing a new picture to form. You are proud of you work.

"i forgive you…"

Highbloods do not cry.


End file.
